


but what if I want to stay?

by boisoup



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 15:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boisoup/pseuds/boisoup
Summary: “Allow me to rephrase my question, what am I doing here?”“To keep me company.”





	but what if I want to stay?

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing literally any character from D:BH, hopefully I did them justice!

Connor has no idea why he, of all people, would be dragged to a bar on a Friday, during peak time. First of all, he did not drink, _he could_ but he nether needs to or wants to. Secondly, his social skills still left a lot to be desired; sure Hank was used to his nuances (his bluntness, ability to ask multiple personal questions at a time) but as far as the RK800 was concerned, some people were still wary of the presence of Androids, despite the revolution being 6 months gone.

Sitting on the barstool next to Hank, whilst he ordered drinks, Connor blinked, optical units refocusing, calibrating and adjusting for the constantly shifting lights in the bar. The smell of Hydrogen, Sodium Chloride, Potassium and many other trace elements (commonly known as _sweat_ ) strong amongst the avid dancers, the waft occasionally drifting towards the slightly quieter bar. It was a pungent smell, one of the ones that were close to makings Connor scrunch up his nose in disgust. Logic dictated that Hank could stand these condition simply through building a tolerance after all these years.

 His optical units finally found a rhythm to constantly moving lights, allowing the Android perfect vision as long as there were lights (night vision a natural option but, undesirable when you can opt to see in the light). Connor settled on staring at the wall of alcohol, ranging from spirits to wine (“All of them are empty, filled with water, to stop drunken idiots from just jumping over the bar” Hank had told him) his eyes flicking over the types available. From past experiences he concluded that Hank would simply have a beer and order Connor one as well, knowing full well that the Android would politely refuse, so that he could also have the beer without feeling bad about not getting Connor one.

The Android span his seat to the left, so he could face the detective, a budding question on his mind. “What are we doing here, lieutenant---”

“ **Hank.** ” Hank didn’t even look at Connor whilst waiting for the bartender to complete the drinks order, just automatically correcting the Android. A habit that naturally formed after months of spending time with each other during work hours, where formality was ripe in his coding, and still present even in his chosen deviancy.

“Excuse me. What are we doing here, Hank?” Leaning an elbow on the bar, Connor made eye contact with Hank, who really didn’t want to return it. However, as an android, used to standing still for hours (despite his near constant fidgeting) could hold eye contact far longer than anyone else, blinking typically an aesthetic and rarely useful feature, used only for calibration.

Hank muttered a thanks to the bartender, who passed over the drinks and accepted payment, before putting a beer in front of Connor and taking a swig of his own. “Listen kid, I’m here to relax, enjoy myself. It’s throwback night.” Hank explained rather casually, before sitting in his chair, still facing the bar, finger tapping the beat of the song on his bottle.

( **RESULTS:** FOO FIGHTERS, BEST OF YOU, IN YOUR HONOR, 2005)

His LED span yellow. Hank would have been 19, going on 20 when the song was released, as he entered the police academy, before his life took a downward turn. Logically, it was a reminder of his youth, however, that did not explain why Connor was there, who arguably, would be chronologically the youngest in the room, without a shadow of a doubt. His LED returned to its typical light blue, his line of thought a little clearer than it was.

 “Allow me to rephrase my question, what am **I** doing here?”

 “To keep me company.”

Before Connor could continue the conversation, his mouth shut and pressed into a thin line. His Optical Units picking up on something in the background, just behind Hank, although the man was obscuring most of the view, Connor unable to gather sufficient evidence of an occurrence. Leaning to his left, his left foot placed on the floor to give him support, (Hank raised his eyebrows at the odd behaviour but didn’t say a word,) as he watched curiously.

You were alone, smiling at two men in front of you, however, Connor noticed how the smile did not reach your eyes, as most genuine smiles do. Then you seemed to notice the Android staring at you, your eyebrows rising slightly, your smile dropping slightly before quickly picking back up, looking back at the men in front of you. His LED changed to yellow. Connor noticed you gripping a drink in your right (his left) hand and your bag in your left (his right); perhaps you were nervous, but you may also have a particularly strong grip. However he caught your eyes darting back to him again, before going back to the men, then back to him.

He was going to figuratively _wing it_ , his calculated chances of success only 37%.

A calculated stride (hands tightening his tie as he went, his LED flickering from red to yellow), it took 11 steps to get to the 2 men, you glanced over as he started walking and, instantly seemed to relax, your shoulders dropping and the grip on your drink seemed to loosen. **Success rate: 41%** Another step and a half to get around the men (the smell of ethanol reeking off them) and stand next to you. As you watched him round them, you smiled and it reached your cheeks. **Success rate: 84%**

 “Hi, sorry I’m late,” Connor smiled slightly, putting his right arm over your shoulders, “traffic was terrible.” He often thought that subterfuge, such as this, was useless, however, the men in front of the two of you were quite large and, would take quite a bit of effort to take down. Not often is he thankful, but just in this instance, he was thankful for the internet and its trove of stories similar to the one playing out right now.

 “Is this really your boyfriend? This plastic toy?” The man on the left (Connors right) asked; he was obviously not convinced that Connor’s sudden and timely arrival was natural. The derogative figuratively rolling off the Androids back. You, on the other hand, seemed a little put off by it.

“Yes.” You bit out, leaning a little into the Androids side, your left arm going around his waist, bag still in hand, trying to sell the relationship between you two. “This is---”

“Connor, nice to meet you.” The RK800 model was quick enough to anticipate what you were going to say, extending his left, free hand, out for the men to shake. A formality that he predicted they weren’t going to accept. And he was right, as the two men, although disgruntled, accepted the facade and left, grumbling between the two of them as they merged back into the bodies on the dancefloor. His LED flicked back to its calm blue, the situation seemed to be under control.

As soon as they were out of sight (and out of mind), the two of you detached, you introduced yourself and started apologising profusely for dragging Connor away from his friend and his evening. However, whilst you apologised, Connor took the moment to really look at you. A floral printed, long sleeved, shoulderless crop top and, a pencil skirt, leaving a small part of your midriff showing. Fortunately, it seemed you weren’t concentrating enough to notice him not concentrating on what you were saying.

“Please, let me get you a drink or something.” Your words snapped him out of his momentary lack of concentration. Again, you were smiling at him softly, although it didn’t quite reach your cheeks, he guessed it was a genuine smile.

“No, thank you. It was the… right thing to do.” His processing center momentarily stuttered between his words. However, it was the truth. He may not have taken notice if he was still following his program as it had nothing to do with his mission, hunting deviants. A benefit of being deviant is being able to do what he wants and sometimes, that also happened to be the right thing.

There was a beat of silence.

“Are you here alone? It is not advised to be on your own at this time of night.” Connor asked, his processor estimating that you were suffering through the mens advances for around five and a half minutes before he intervened, around 2 minutes ago. You could’ve been alone for a lot longer, which may have prompted the unwanted conversation.

“I’m here with my friends, sort of.” You explained, glancing around, probably having another quick look for them. “They went to the bathroom one song before _that_.” Your mood seemed to dip, eyes focussing on the floor, smile starting to fade. RK800 could decipher whether you were saddened by the men approaching you or, the idea that your friends may have left you alone to face the ordeal. However you quickly seemed to pick back up, smiling softly.

“Would you like me to stay with you until they return?” Connor found himself asking, his vocal processor acting on its own, a ridiculous phenomenon that seemed to happening more and more frequently, to many of his parts. The other week, his fist balled whilst requesting a file off Detective Reed. However, this vocalisation was far more desirable. He quickly glanced behind him to see Hank, and both beers, no longer at the bar. “It seems my friend has vanished too.”

Your, eyebrows raised, as you spoke, “Are you sure?” It seemed to Connor, that you were shocked; perhaps you weren’t expecting such kindness from a stranger. “You really don’t have to stay,” you said. You seemed to be worried about pressuring him into staying, something he wasn’t compelled to do. However, he was more than happy to stay until at least one of your friends came back.

“But, what if I want to stay?”


End file.
